


let's you and me fight

by multicorn



Series: we are shaped like stars [3]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bickering, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Military Ranks, Revolutionaries, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multicorn/pseuds/multicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't need another aide-de-camp, Alex says.  They especially don't need John Laurens, who's never seen battle, who's only given the position because of who his father is.</p>
<p>... and then Alex and John Laurens become something like friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's you and me fight

It’s only two days since Lafayette joined the family, with all the misunderstandings and adjustments that event had entailed, when Washington delivers with the morning’s news the unwelcome announcement that yet another aide-de-camp will be added to the current full roster of three. The rest of the room receives the news without apparent complaint. Alex, however, is making his way to the front of the room the instant Washington stops speaking, and corners the commander-in-chief still standing, before he’s had time to retreat behind his desk.

“Excuse me, sir,” he begins, respectfully, “but we don’t need any more aides. Tilghman and McHenry and I are sufficient to everything we’ve been assigned.. And if there’s more work you need done, tell me! I can do it.”

Washington has been looking down, idly paging through the papers stacked on his desk, since Alex started speaking to him. He doesn’t look up when he replies. “Do you know who John Laurens is? He’s Henry Laurens’ eldest son. And _he’s_ one of the richest men in the Colonies, and the current President of Congress, to boot.”

Alex can’t believe what he’s hearing. And even more, he’s furious that Washington won’t meet his eyes. “So you’re giving him this position!? Sir! This sort of corruption is suited to the British and their aristocracy, not to our Revolution. A man who wants to advance in the army should serve in the line, like I did. Like you did, yourself! How can we expect the regiments to take orders from an officer who hasn’t fought?”

Now, Washington does look at him. A low but relentless flame of anger simmers in those deep-set eyes. “Hamilton, calm down. I don’t recall asking for your opinion. And, frankly, I don’t appreciate the way you’re questioning me. There’s nothing corrupt about my conduct here.”

“Then what are you doing?” The question bursts out of Alex before he thinks. He wasn’t meaning to accuse the commander, and perhaps he should apologize. But the Washington’s already resumed speaking before he has the chance.

“Nor do I have to explain myself to you. But I suppose I may as well. This young man, as I said, is Henry Laurens’ son. That makes him useful to me. You know that we’ve had our difficulties in getting Congress to listen to our letters - ”

“Yes,” Alex interrupts, heartfelt. He knows few things better, lately.

“So you see,” Washington continues, “that a personal connection like this, between the President and the Commander in Chief, could only help both the army and what serves all of as as a government.”

~

Alex’s fuming over the new aide-de-camp cools over the next few days to become only a gentle and intermittent head of steam. New irritations occur constantly. But it comes back in full force when Lt. Col. Laurens shows up.

Washington walks into the workroom about midday. There’s a new man trailing him. He’s striking: rawboned, face full of freckles, queue overflowing with lively black curls. Even when he’s standing perfectly, properly, still, the air around him seems to shimmer as if over the heat of a fire.

The two of them stop in front of Alex’s desk, and if he’d known then what was coming, he would’ve thought, _oh, shit_.

Washington speaks first: dignified, measured, the steady voice of a man who knows that when he speaks, the whole world will listen. Alex envies that assurance, when he thinks about it. “This is Lt. Col. John Laurens. I’ll assign him specific duties later, but at the moment he’s instructed to assist you however you see fit.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Laurens says. His voice is lightly accented, part Southern and part something else that Alex can’t place. He’s holding out his hand, and Alex takes it.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says. The title should go without saying.

Washington vanishes. Laurens pulls over an empty chair, and sits at the side of Alex’s desk. “So. Is there somewhere in particular you’d like me to start?”

Alex gathers the messy heap of letters he’s written today but not copied for the General’s records yet, pushes them into a neater pile, and sets it back down in front of Laurens. “Make clean copies of all these,” he says. And, surprisingly, Laurens does. He sets to work without complaint or even question, which Alex suspects he wouldn’t do in his place, and as Alex sees him pile up page after page of fair copied text, his respect for him grows, if only a little.

After a while of this Alex forgets that anyone’s working next to him, forgets anything but his pen and the words demanded of it. He’s rudely reminded and interrupted when Laurens finishes his copying and asks, “what are you working on?”

“Work,” Alex says shortly. There are few things he hates as much as being interrupted. But he can feel Laurens staring, so he says, “I don’t have time to stop and explain it all to spoiled brats like you.”

“I was only asking,” Laurens says, but there’s a threat thread of sulkiness in his voice. From the General’s new pet. Wonderful. “You don’t have to pick a fight with me.”

“And what if I do anyway? Will you cry foul and run back home?” Because the truth is he’s been itching for something, between all the impositions and the restraint. Laurens’ appointment is only the latest of a very long line of grievances, and he’s had to put up with so many since he accepted this position.

Laurens shrugs, and grins, which is so unexpected that it disarms Alex for the moment completely. His grin is as white and wide as a shark’s, and Alex thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I won’t do anything this time. I know that it’s true; I am spoiled. But if you wish to challenge me on a matter of consequence, I’ll meet you anywhere and any time and with any weapon you choose.”

“Good to know,” Alex says. He can’t suppress the grin that blossoms on his face to match Laurens’; can’t help, either, the rising urge to call his bluff, and call him out for real. For something. But to show there’s no hard feelings, instead he pushes over to Laurens’ side the letter he’d been composing a reply to. “So, what do you think of this?” he says. “Look. They’re ordering Brigadier General McIntosh up north from Georgia, not for any military reason, but because he shot Governor Gwinnett in a duel. Don’t we have a professional army?”

“Let me see,” Laurens says, eagerly.

The General’s voice cuts stentorian across their discussion. “Hamilton! Laurens! Are the two of you gentlemen officers or gossiping schoolboys?”

Alex blanches at the General’s disapproval, and is gratified to see that Laurens does the same. “See, I told you I can’t to stop working,” he says, but he receives a conspiratorial smile in answer this time, with a friendly cast to Laurens’ rolled eyes.

~

Later in the evening, after supper, the atmosphere is more relaxed. Some of the men have retired from the workroom to their private pursuits. Sounds of drunken yelling and a ball game filter in from outside, and even inside where work continues, coats have been shed in favor of shirtsleeves. The door creaks open and closed again as the men come and go unannounced.

When Lafayette strolls in, he’s beaming, radiating energy. Alex has no idea where he gets so much of it. Beads of water or sweat are glistening in his bristly beard, and he looks longer and leaner like this, at ease out of uniform, no longer a greyhound but a lazy cheetah lolling in the sun. He wears a fine linen shirt which he’s sweated through in places, and which Alex finds more impressive than all the decorations on his coat all together.

“Hamilton!,” he calls, and both Alex and Laurens next to him look up.

“Lafayette!” Alex says. Immediately he feels as if the sun’s come out, and he hadn’t even noticed it was missing. Lafayette tends to have that effect on people. “How do your efforts fare?” Lafayette had promised to help the army acquire material aid from France.

“I’m still figuring things out.” Lafayette shrugs. “So it goes. But who is this?”

“John Laurens,” Alex says, quickly, before Laurens has the chance to introduce himself. “He’s the new _unofficial_ aide-de-camp to General Washington. Laurens, this is the Marquis de Lafayette.”

“Vous êtes un marquis?” says Laurens. “Où est votre domaine? I vécu pendant trois ans à Genève.” Which makes sense, because his French is schoolboy and infuriating.

“Quelqu'un a déjà dit que vous êtes un frimeur?” Alex interjects at Laurens.

“Laurens, it’s wonderful to meet another French speaker such as myself and this one here,” Lafayette says, pointedly. Alex glowers at his back. “Hamilton,” Lafayette continues, “Quel est votre problème? Soyez gentil.”

“I’ll show you nice, you mamelle malade d'une putain de vache.”

“Shh,” Lafayette says, “the General will hear you.”

“No, don’t stop,” Laurens says to Alex, then, to Lafayette, “isn’t he the best?”

“I don’t know why you’d think that,” Lafayette replies.

Washington in fact walks up to their little knot of conversation just then. He looks less like a statue with his coat off, and more likely to be made of flesh and blood, but no less imposing for all that. “Lafayette! And Laurens. And Hamilton. How are my two newest arrivals finding the camp?”

“About what Hamilton was just saying,” Lafayette starts.

Alex elbows him in the side, and mutters furiously, _sotto voce_ , “taisez-vous! Mon Dieu.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” Washington says. To Lafayette, then he turns a little. “Hamilton, you were saying?”

Alex thinks quickly. What else could he have been saying? “That it’s getting late and Laurens still doesn’t know where he’s to sleep tonight.”

“Really,” Washington says. His frown of disapproval is so deeply etched it seems immovable. Alex fucking hates that frown. “Did I not tell you? He’ll be sharing your room.” This makes sense, of course. There are no empty rooms left, and he is the junior aide-de-camp, and he would have made the same decision if Washington had asked him. Still, Washington hadn’t even told him; he’d just assumed that he would know. And meanwhile he’d turned back to Laurens to ask, “So, how did your first day go?”

“Very well,” Laurens says. “Hamilton here has been showing me the ropes, but please do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Washington says, with a genial nod. How does he do that - go so hard on Alex, and so much easier on everyone else! “You’ll give a good report of us when you write to your father, I hope.”

“I suppose so,” Laurens says, and Washington, seemingly satisfied, steps away.

“What was that about?” Laurens asks once the General’s out of earshot.

“Who could guess,” Alex says, sarcastically. “I’m so curious.”

“I wonder, too. Lafayette?”

“Wait a minute,” Alex says. “You’re confused? For real? Washington took you on as an aide specifically so you’d report back to your father, and you’re telling me you don’t even know why he invited you here?” The idea of being allowed to be unaware of the bargain - it makes resentment crawl up his lungs, up his throat, burn too corrosive to keep inside.

“No one told me,” Laurens says. He sounds angry, too. Good. “But I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s a joke on both of them, though; my father doesn’t care for my opinions. He calls them foolish notions. Nevermind. I’ll prove myself worthy of the position on my own merits.”

“How can you say your father doesn’t care?” Alex spits out. Dragon fire. It doesn’t feel corrosive anymore; it’s good, cleansing anger. “He requested this favor from the General specifically for you.”

“Perhaps he did,” Laurens flashes, “but you still don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are the two of you going to fight now?” Lafayette breaks in. He sounds delighted at the prospect, and Alex is dismayed that he’d somehow forgotten that he and Laurens weren’t alone.

“Not right now,” Alex says. If nothing else, they’re still in the workroom. If he starts a scuffle, Washington will see it, and who knows what could happen then.

“He’s not worth it,” Laurens says.

“Take that back - !” Alex does start for him, though he knows even as he moves that it’s a stupid idea.

Lafayette, thankfully, catches him by both shoulders and says, “on second thought. Please don’t.” He holds Alex back for the seconds it takes till Alex holds back himself, and keeps hold of him, gently but firmly, until he calms down enough to relax.

~

Later at night, the workroom is usually empty except for Alex. Abandoned - like him, he thinks, sometimes, in his more melancholy moods - and he likes it that way. He does his best thinking like this, alone in an island of candlelight in the vast dark sea of the night.

He’s not alone, now, though, he can tell. There’s a sound of someone else coming in and scuffling around.

“Laurens,” he says, once he’s identified the intruder. “What are you doing here? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but everyone else has gone to bed.”

Laurens bumps into the leg of yet another desk. Alex can’t work out if he’s doing it on purpose to aggravate him, or if his night vision is really that poor. “The General said I’m supposed to sleep with you.”

“And? You don’t have to wait for me.” Alex gestures to the copy of Postlethwaite lying open in front of him. As he thinks they established earlier, he’s not planning to curtail any of his work on Laurens’ behalf.

“I still don’t know where your bedroom is.” A fair enough point, Alex supposes, but he’s not in the mood to be fair.

“Let me finish this section,” he says. “Just a minute more.” Laurens nods, assenting - or at least, accepting - and Alex falls back to reading. Every time he looks up he sees Laurens look swiftly away from him, so - he doesn’t know what that means. He continues reading.

Eventually Laurens breaks the silence. “Are you ever going to stop?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask!”

“You live just to provoke people, don’t you.” And yet, despite the insulting words, Laurens delivers this comment with a smile. They’re becoming friends after all, Alex guesses. Well, he doesn’t hold a grudge if Laurens doesn’t.

“You can’t say you don’t enjoy it,” he says, and winks. Laurens’ face immediately shutters.

He turns half away from Alex and fishes a pocketwatch out of his waistcoat, looks at it and puts it away again before he replies, “it’s almost midnight. We should go to sleep now, or we’ll be tired in the morning. Are you ready yet?”

Whatever. He’s only an unofficial aide; his moods aren’t Alex’s concern. “Sure. Yes.”

~

Alex goes upstairs. Laurens follows him, footsteps echoing dully on the wooden steps. Silent, but that’s much to be preferred than speaking too loud. Alex opens the door to his little room, waves Laurens on in front of him, and closes it carefully so it doesn’t creak.

“Well, this is our room,” he announces, unnecessarily. He doesn’t think it’s too bad. It’s clean, even if the walls have faded to a sickly shade of green.

“There’s only one bed,” Laurens says. Well, it’s what they were able to requisition. Is he surprised?

“Indeed. There are no extra beds for extra aides-de-camp. I’m not sleeping on the floor, but you can if you want to.”

“No… uh. No thank you,” Laurens says. His voice sounds oddly stifled but Alex refuses to make it his problem. He simply undresses to his shirt, slips under the coarse blanket, and puts the candle on the windowsill by the bed, within reach for blowing out. When he turns back over to check on Laurens, he’s surprised to see that he’s standing fully dressed, unmoving in the center of the room.

“What’s your problem now?” Alex asks. This time his irritation is impersonal and all honest. He’s been exhausted for more days than he can count, and there’s no reason to still be awake if he’s not doing anything. “Come on. Or I’m blowing out the candle, and you can stub your toe in the dark.”

“Blow it out now,” Laurens says. Alex is puzzled by the request, but he complies nevertheless. Faint memories come to him of monsters, of Cupid in the story with Psyche, who can’t abide candle light. There’s a faint rustling sound, anyway, and a moment later, a bony knee poking his abdomen, retreating instantly with a muttered apology.

Alex had expected to fight for space. He’d starfished out on his back, preemptively claiming as much ground as he could before the other did. Apparently, though, he didn’t have to. He can’t feel Laurens at all. It’s strange. Laurens had no trouble in taking up space when they were sharing a desk, so why does he now cling to the side of the bed?

It’s a puzzle. Not a bad one to chew on, either, as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> English translations of the French:
> 
> “Vous êtes un marquis? Où est votre domaine? I vécu pendant trois ans à Genève.” -> "You're a marquis? Where is your domain? I spent three years in Geneva."
> 
> “Quelqu'un a déjà dit que vous êtes un frimeur?” -> "Has anyone ever told you that you're a show-off?"
> 
> “Quel est votre problème? Soyez gentil.” -> "What's your problem? Be nice."
> 
> “mamelle malade d'une putain de vache.” -> "diseased udder of a whore of a cow."
> 
> “taisez-vous! Mon Dieu.” -> "be quiet! My God."
> 
> ~
> 
> Also, yes, McIntosh was reassigned because he dueled and killed BUTTON GWINNETT, because it was thought there might be bad feelings in Georgia afterwards. This was one of the first letters Washington received after Laurens joined his camp.
> 
> ~
> 
> I love comments! And I can be found as multsicorn on tumblr.com.


End file.
